


A Neighborly Christmas Eve

by redpenny



Series: 'A Neighborly...' Series [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Body Image, Body Worship, Chubby Kink, Chubby Stiles Stilinski, Firefighter Derek Hale, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Strangers to Lovers, Teasing, Weight Gain, Weight Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-29 21:04:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21416653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redpenny/pseuds/redpenny
Summary: Derek grits his teeth. "I was just willing to pay a lot of money for a couple of hours with you, in case you forgot.""You did notice that I'm fat, right?""I noticed."
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: 'A Neighborly...' Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1548832
Comments: 25
Kudos: 647





	A Neighborly Christmas Eve

**Author's Note:**

> This is nothing but sex between a chubby guy and a guy who likes chubby guys. Be warned, no redeeming qualities to be found here...

Derek stares in horror at the man on the other side of his door.

After all these years, Erica actually followed through with her threats.

The man grins broadly at him. "Hi there, 2B."

Derek looks the man up and down. He wouldn't have expected a hoodie and jeans, but they do hug his body nicely, showing off the shape of it.

He supposes that's the point and he can't decide whether he's more disturbed that Erica has somehow figured out what his type was or impressed that she managed to find someone who fit it so precisely.

"I'm Stiles." The man thrusts a hand forward. Derek stares at it — long, slender fingers, somewhat at odds to the rest of him — and then finally shakes it.

"Derek," Derek says. And then, before he can second-guess himself, he gestures inside. "Come in."

"Alright." The man shoots him another wide grin, light brown eyes sparkling in the sun, and looks around as Derek closes the door. "Oh, hey, your layout's just like mine. Except my kitchen's to the left. Is this a one bedroom or two?"

"Uh, one?" Derek follows the man's eyes around his own sparsely furnished apartment. And then realizes why he's asking and hastily adds, "It's just me, if that's what you're worried about."

"Worried?" the man repeats distractedly. He's inspecting the weight rack in the living room.

"How many hours did Erica pay you for?" Derek blurts out.

The man turns back around and gives him a quizzical look. "What?"

"Was it for a specific act instead? I don't know how this works."

"Specific... act?" the man repeats, brown eyes widening.

"Or did she tell you that I would pay?" That would be typical. Derek can't believe he's actually hoping that the man takes credit cards.

The man's mouth drops open. "Holy shit. You actually think..."

"Think what?" Derek asks, starting to get annoyed. He thought the whole point of a hooker was that it _wasn't_ supposed to be awkward.

"Um, hello?" The man thrusts his hand forward again. "Stiles Stilinski, your new upstairs neighbor who's bringing you Christmas cookies? And who's not a sex worker?"

Derek freezes. 

The man — Stiles — gives up on Derek shaking his hand again and helpfully holds up a Tupperware container instead.

"Shit."

"Chocolate chip, sugar and snickerdoodle, all in festive holiday shapes." Stiles pushes the container into Derek's hands. "No nuts because giving my new neighbors an allergic reaction probably wouldn't help my cause."

"Your cause?" Derek repeats faintly. The Tupperware container's decorated with reindeer and snowmen.

"Making new friends." Stiles sticks his hands in his hoodie pockets, making it pull tighter across his stomach. He smirks. "_Not_ clients. Though this would be an interesting marketing technique. If I did that. Which I don't. I'm a cyber-security consultant for the police department and already have more work than I need. Mostly idiot teenagers who think they're hotshot hackers, but there is the occasional interesting—"

Derek interrupts, "I don't really eat a lot of cookies."

"Do you live off of protein shakes and chicken breasts, then? Figures you're that type. I mean, look at you." He looks pointedly at Derek's abdomen. "I should've guessed. Well, share them with your friends and family, then. Just know that I do expect everyone to return the Tupperware. I'm in 7C, by the way. It's written there on the top. And no leaving them outside the door. I have to make friends somehow and I've been told I'm an acquired taste."

"I'm sorry," Derek finally gets out. It's hitting him that he somehow managed to simultaneously acquire an incredibly attractive upstairs neighbor _and_ lose any chance he might've had with him, all in one fell swoop. "My friend's been threatening to get me a hooker for my birthday for years. I thought she'd finally gone through with it."

"No worries, man." Stiles rocks back and forth on his heels. "It's usually me who's making the embarrassing first impression. This is a nice change of pace."

"Are you going to tell—"

"Oh, don't worry, I'm telling everybody," Stiles assures him cheerfully. "Not that anyone will believe it."

"Right." 

"I mean, who would believe that someone like _you_ would need to hire a hooker?"

"_I_ didn't hire a hooker," Derek corrects him irritably. "Erica did."

"Except she didn't," Stiles reminds him. He tilts his head thoughtfully. "I mean, it would've been a good joke. I'd have given her props for that, though I suppose it would've been on me, too, what with the inevitable rejection."

"Inevitable rejection?" Derek repeats.

"Yeah." Stiles glances down at himself. "I mean, dude, look at me."

Derek does look at him.

He's about Derek's height but looks a few years younger. He has brown hair that's a bit too tousled to be intentional and light brown eyes that are as expressive as his hands. His round cheeks are dotted with moles. His green scarf doesn't completely conceal the chubbiness of his chin and his belly fills out his red hoodie as well as his thighs fill out his jeans.

He looks like someone Derek was recently prepared to spend an embarrassing amount of money on.

"You don't have to play dumb," Stiles continues. "I wasn't anywhere near your league back when I was a skinny college freshman, let alone four freshman fifteens later. I doubt guys who can't even get into their XL shirts anymore are in high demand at escort agencies."

There's just enough forced lightness in the self-deprecating statements to make Derek feel obligated to point out, "I invited you in, Stiles."

"Huh. You did. So you were actually going to go through with it just to call her bluff?"

"No. It had just been a while and—"

"Of course." Hurt flashes in Stiles's eyes. "Thanks a lot for that, man."

"That's not what I..." Derek exhales. "I just mean, I wouldn't ever normally do something like pay for a hooker."

"Dude, I get it." Stiles crosses his arms over his chest, clenching his jaw. "You don't have to denigrate sex workers just to try to make me feel better."

"I'm not _denigrating_ anyone," Derek grinds out. Talking to Stiles-the-neighbor is proving just as frustrating as talking to Stiles-the-hooker. "And I'm not trying to make you feel better. I was going to say that it'd been a while and you looked like exactly the kind of guy I would normally want to... go for. Now, don't you have more cookies to deliver? There are nine floors in this building and this is only the second one."

"I started from the top," Stiles tells him. "And are you serious right now? I'm _your_ type?"

"Yes."

"You do realize that's even less believable than someone who looks like _you_ being hard up, don't you?"

Derek grits his teeth. "I was just willing to pay a lot of money for a couple of hours with you, in case you forgot."

"You did notice that I'm fat, right?"

"I noticed." He wonders how much longer Stiles is planning to harp on this before leaving him to his private humiliation. He also wonders if he can somehow still blame this on Erica.

"So you have a fat kink?"

"It's not a _fetish_, I just have a _type_." Derek shoves open the apartment door. "Now, are you done rubbing it in yet? I think you've more than paid me back for assuming you were a prostitute."

"There's nothing wrong with being a sex worker," Stiles says primly.

"Well, you're not one, either way. And you still have that last floor to bribe with cookies, don't you?" Derek looks pointedly at the door Stiles is making no move to walk out of. There's a bag full of more Tupperware containers waiting just outside. He's starting to see why the man has to ply people with baked goods to tolerate his company.

But Stiles still doesn't move. He just looks at him for a long moment, then says, "I'm not saying no, you know."

"Not saying no to what? Leaving?" Derek asks hopefully.

"Look, you wanted to fuck me a minute ago when you thought I was a hooker. If that's still on offer, I'm not saying no."

Derek stares. "You're serious."

Stiles rubs the back of his neck. "I haven't exactly been getting a lot of action lately, either."

Derek sighs in resignation. The man might be annoying as hell, but he's cute and he's going to spend the next month fantasizing about touching him either way.

"Look, never mind, forget that I—"

"Okay."

Stiles's eyes widen. "Okay?"

Derek nods.

"Oh." Stiles's tongue darts out to lick his lips. Derek follows the motion. "Okay, then."

Stiles takes a step forward, then stops. They look at each other for a long moment. 

Derek doesn't even know where to start. He rarely hooks up in general these days and he's never done it like this before. Is there even precedent for hooking up with a man you've just mistaken for a prostitute but who's instead turned out to be a neighbor delivering Christmas cookies?

Stiles finally breaks the silence — something that is clearly not a hardship for him. "So, Derek, this isn't Pretty Woman and I'm not actually a prostitute."

"I know that."

"Are you going to kiss me, then?"

They kiss for a while.

Stiles's tongue is clever and his mouth is hot and eager and his stomach is a comfortable push between them.

It's been so long since Derek's done this, and even longer since he did it with someone who felt this right.

"So, what are we going to do?" Stiles asks against Derek's lips, fingers digging into his shoulders.

Derek pulls back just far enough to murmur, "What do you want?"

So far they've made it into the bedroom but not to the bed and the only piece of clothing removed is Stiles's scarf, but Derek's too consumed in the feel of him to want to hurry.

"Anything." Stiles pulls back and groans as he runs his hands admiringly down Derek's torso. "God, you're so hot. Anything."

"You can't say 'anything'." Derek reaches down under Stiles's belly and cups his dick through his jeans. He's hard and his jeans are as tight over his dick as they are everywhere else.

"Dude, I'm pan, I'm versatile, and I'm very open-minded. Also, you got shy when I all I did was point out your chubby kink. I think I'm pretty safe saying 'anything'."

"I did not get _shy_," Derek protests, pulling back to look into big brown eyes, sparkling in sun shining through the bedroom window. "You have a nice body. That doesn't mean _I_ have a fetish."

"Sure." Stiles glances down at his stomach swelling between them under his hoodie. When he raises his eyes again, he's suddenly looking a bit less secure. "Have you ever been with anyone as big as me?"

"You're not _that_ big, you know." Derek smirks and gives his cock a squeeze.

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Hilarious, man."

Derek moves his hand to the side of his stomach and says, "You're not that big here, either."

"Not _that_ big isn't exactly reassuring, dude."

"Stiles." Derek kisses him lightly as he reaches for the zipper of his hoodie.

His t-shirt isn't too tight underneath — Derek wonders if Stiles was exaggerating about not fitting into extra-large or if this is a bigger size — but as he unzips the hoodie, the chubby curves of Stiles's torso that the hoodie had only hinted at are much more obvious.

He pushes the hoodie off his shoulders and then strokes down his soft pecs, watches his nipples peak under the brush of his thumbs.

"Got a thing for manboobs, then?" There's a self-conscious bite to his words, mixed in with the hoarse arousal.

"You don't quite have those," Derek tells him.

"Not quite?" Stiles repeats, glancing down to try to see. His soft chin folds into two.

"No, not quite." His chest isn't sagging quite enough for that. Derek cups the puffy flesh under his nipples and squeezes gently. "They're really nice, though."

Stiles's cheeks flush and Derek pulls him closer. Without the hoodie in the way, there's more give where Stiles's belly pushes against his.

Derek sneaks his hands up under his shirt, feeling the spread of love handles over his tight jeans, and follows them to his back.

Stiles stiffens. "Dude, are you fondling my back fat? I didn't even know I had back fat."

"You do," Derek confirms, and gives it a squeeze. Stiles twists around indignantly.

"Well, thanks for pointing it out. I really needed to know that hot people notice my back fat."

"Stiles." Derek meets distressed brown eyes as he rubs over chubby sides. "I'm not going to pretend you're not fat."

Stiles opens his mouth but Derek presses a finger over his lips.

"It's nice," Derek tells him. "Your body's really nice."

"I have back fat," Stiles repeats unhappily.

"Yeah," Derek agrees. Stiles seems to need compliments and Derek wishes he were better at them. He just says, "It's nice, too."

Stiles stares at him for a long moment. "Fine."

Derek presses their lips together and Stiles lets him deepen the kiss, relaxing into it after a moment. Or at least he relaxes until Derek goes to tug his t-shirt up his belly.

Stiles grabs it by the hem and shoves it back down.

"_Stiles_."

"_Derek_." Stiles gives him a stubborn look.

"Let me see you."

"It's rude to make the fat guy be the only one naked," Stiles tells him.

"Is that the rule?" Derek raises an eyebrow, but doesn't protest. He just reaches for his own Henley and strips it over his head. He hears a choking sound and, once he shoves down his jeans and boxer briefs and looks back up, he finds Stiles gaping at him.

"Everything all right, Stiles?"

"No, it's not all right," Stiles says, voice strangled.

Derek glances down at himself. He wasn't expecting to be getting naked with anyone today, but he thought he looked all right. His pubes are neatly trimmed. His chest isn't waxed but there's just a bit of dark hair down the center of it, and a bit more down his stomach.

He's in good shape and he doesn't have much spare flesh, but from the way Stiles had been talking, Derek had assumed he'd prefer that to someone softer in the middle.

He's uncut and hard and, unless Stiles was expecting a pornstar-sized dick, Derek thinks he's big enough.

Just as Derek is starting to get defensive from all the staring, Stiles finally says, "Jesus Christ, dude. You're so fucking ripped. Is this even real? Are _you_ even real?"

"Am I real?"

"Guys like you do not get naked with guys like me," Stiles says. "You do realize that, right?"

Derek crosses his arms over his naked chest, getting annoyed now that he understands the problem.

Sure, he gets it. Even if he can't really comprehend not finding someone like Stiles the most attractive guy in any room, he gets that not everyone is into the extra weight. And he gets that Stiles would know that.

But Derek's not the best at putting himself out there and getting either told off or laughed at when he approaches guys like Stiles hasn't made him any better at it. Hence Erica threatening to buy him a hooker for three birthdays in a row now.

He'd thought Stiles was different, though.

So it's with a bit of pent-up frustration that he demands, "Well, _you_ realize that I'm allowed to want to, don't you?"

Stiles looks startled. After a moment, he says, "Right," and looks down. "You're just not making this any easier looking like that, all right?"

Derek glances at his clothes discarded on the bedroom floor. "Do you want me to put my clothes back on?"

Stiles huffs out a laugh. "Jesus Christ. No." Then he finally reaches for his t-shirt, but then he only lifts it far enough to give Derek a peek at a pale belly roll before stopping. "Wait. Turn off the light."

Derek looks meaningfully towards the window and the bright California sunlight shining through the blinds.

"Right. Never mind."

"Just take off your clothes, Stiles."

"Are you always so bossy, dude?"

"Are you always so difficult?" Derek crosses his arms over his naked chest. "And don't call me dude."

"Oh, would you prefer 'sir'?" Stiles asks. "Not so vanilla as you pretend to be after all?"

"How about you just call me Derek?"

At least the argument distracts Stiles enough from his anxiety about taking off his clothes. And Derek himself is getting rapidly distracted by the sight of his pale belly wobbling with the effort of stripping off too-tight jeans.

Once he finally kicks off the last of his clothes, Stiles moves to position his arms over his belly, but then seems to realize they won't do much to hide it. He lets them drop back to his sides, the chub of his arms pushing against the sides of his chest, and does his best to suck in his stomach instead.

"So," Stiles challenges. "Is this really the eye candy you were expecting?"

"You look good." Derek reaches out to touch his belly. It's not as round like this but still slopes out from under his chest. "And you'd look even better if you stopped trying to suck this in." 

"I don't have abs like you do," Stiles says, somehow making that sound like an accusation.

"Of course you don't." Derek can't help an amused smile as he strokes down his belly soothingly, feeling the layer of flab where abs would be. "You've got about a hundred pounds on me."

"What?" Stiles gapes, indignant. "I do not, dude."

"You don't think so?" Derek thumbs at the angry red denim-marks indenting the skin below his belly. "When's the last time you weighed yourself?"

Stiles bats his hand away. "You're the one who said I wasn't that big."

"You're not." Derek steps closer and slides his hands around chubby hips. "You _are_ too big for your jeans, though." He kisses his soft jaw. "And too big to be only sixty pounds away from a skinny college Freshman."

"I know it's more than sixty," Stiles huffs, but tilts his head to let Derek suck at the softness under his chin. "But it's definitely not as much as whatever you're thinking."

"All right," Derek concedes as he kisses down his neck.

Stiles rubs a hand over Derek's taut abs and asks, "Do you really think I've got a hundred pounds on you?" 

"Yeah." Derek presses his lips to his throat, where his padded collarbones meet.

Stiles keeps talking, though distractedly. "It's probably all the Christmas cookies. I might look like I live off of take-out and donuts, but I'm an excellent baker."

"I'm surprised there were any left after you gave them away to the whole building."

"Multiple batches are a thing, you know."

"Are they?"

Derek kisses him, deep and hot, before pushing him back onto the bed, and then takes a moment to look at him.

Stiles's belly, now that he's no longer trying to suck it in, mounds up under his chest, and then softens as it slopes down. His cock thrusts up hard and flushed below it. Even when he was standing up, his belly wasn't heavy enough to cover his groin, but Derek doubts Stiles has been able to see himself any time recently. Not without a mirror, at least.

Stiles's chubby thighs press together and there's a mole right next to his cock. There are another couple next to his belly button and a few more over his chest and sides. Pale, jagged lines stretch over his hips.

Even if he doesn't have a hundred pounds on Derek, it has to be close to it.

Stiles starts to squirm under his gaze and Derek shakes himself.

"Those extra batches look nice on you," he tells him as he crawls over him onto the bed. He lays a hand on his belly as he props himself on an elbow next to him. Then he bends down to suck in a puffy nipple, wanting to feel it peak again under his tongue.

"Fuck, dude, that feels good," Stiles groans out, tangling a hand on his hair.

Derek murmurs an agreement and continues licking and sucking at his chest. Stiles is so responsive and his belly quivers under his hand with every sharp breath and groan.

Derek hasn't been so eager to explore someone's body in longer than he can remember. And there's so much to explore. 

He gives Stiles's nipple one last lick and then shifts down.

He presses his lips into the swollen give of belly below his chest and murmurs, "You're so big here."

"Shut up, dude," Stiles says, even as he arches into the kisses.

He's widest at his belly button, where there's an extra puff of flesh sitting on the round mound of it. Further down, his belly gets softer, doughier, under Derek's mouth and hands.

Stiles is cursing and complaining and clenching his hands in the sheets. Derek looks up to find his eyes screwed shut, head thrown back.

Stiles might not like his weight, but his body sure seems to like it paid attention to.

Derek kisses his belly again and asks, "Can I fuck you?"

Stiles stills and licks his kiss-bitten lips, pupils wide.

"Yeah, man. Jesus. Yes. You should _definitely_ fuck me."

Derek grabs the lube from his bedside drawer and rearranges himself between Stiles's thighs. He gives the plump inside of one of them a squeeze and Stiles groans again.

His cock is hard and leaking and close to touching his lower belly. Derek swallows it down as he pushes a lubed finger inside of him.

Stiles's thighs squirm around him. He tastes nothing like Christmas cookies but somehow Derek's reminded of the taste of them, anyways.

He desperately wants to swallow down everything he'll give him. Except he also wants to know if his cock can make Stiles gasp like this.

So he sits up and wipes the lube off his finger. He gives his own cock a squeeze. He hasn't been so turned on in... he can't remember how long.

"Fuck, dude, don't _stop_. Why are you stopping?"

Derek chuckles and tells him, "Turn over."

"What?" Stiles blinks, looking dizzy with arousal.

"Hands and knees, Stiles." Derek gives his chubby thigh a pat.

"Okay, fine. But don't expect me to do it for long," Stiles warns as he heaves himself up.

Derek feels his lips twitch. "Feeling lazy?"

Stiles gives him a withering look. "Do I look like I've been doing a lot of push-ups lately?"

"No," Derek says, watching him. "You don't."

His thighs are chubby, his arms are chubby, and his belly is hanging down, heavy and wobbly. It's a good distance from hitting the bed, but it's still probably too big to do a proper push-up if he tried.

Stiles glances down at himself and complains, "I look even fatter like this."

"You do," Derek agrees. He positions himself behind him and rubs his hands up the backs of his thighs to his ass. It isn't as big as his belly, but it's dimpled with enough flesh to dig his fingers into.

Stiles puts his hand on his stomach like he's weighing how it hangs down. "Fuck, no wonder you think I've got a hundred pounds on you."

The thought suddenly occurs to Derek, "Does your back hurt like this?"

"No." Stiles twists around to look at him. "But you better get your dick in me before I get tired. You still going to like my out-of-shape ass when I can't make it five minutes like this?"

"Yeah, I probably will," Derek says. He covers Stiles's hand over his belly and laces their fingers together. "But you live on the seventh floor in a building with a broken elevator. I think you'll make it more than five minutes."

"Ugh, don't remind me," Stiles groans. "I've probably gotten more exercise this month than I have in years. Mrs. Peabody totally lied about repairing it, didn't she?"

"Going on two years now."

Stiles groans. "Fuck. I'm going to work off those cookies whether I want to or not, aren't I?"

"You might." Derek squeezes his hand against his stomach. "You really don't need to, though. Your body is really—"

"Nice, yeah," Stiles says. "You've said that about a hundred times, dude. Are you going to fuck me already?"

It's been a long time.

Derek just thanks God he's got the stamina of a twenty-nine-year-old and not a teenager because fucking Stiles is a torture made up of pushy demands, a constant, filthy narration, and a plush and endlessly responsive body beneath him.

He interrupts what might be a long-winded insult to his mother's virtue — it's hard to tell — with a pinch to Stiles's nipple.

"Fuck." Stiles exclaims. "Fuck you. Derek, Christ, just — touch me here again." He grabs his hand and moves it back to his fat lower belly.

Derek squeezes the heavy flesh and exhales a shaky, "Jesus, you're so—"

Stiles bites back a groan. "Shut up."

"You are," Derek insists, even though he's not really sure how he meant to finish the sentence.

"Well, don't _stop_, asshole." Stiles thrusts back against him, squeezing almost painfully tight around his cock. "You're supposed to be the one who's in shape here."

Later, they lie side-by-side on the bed, sweat cooling in the waning afternoon light.

Stiles has his head pillowed on Derek's bicep and his belly is slumped between them and looking helplessly chubby, resting lightly against Derek's toned abs.

"Stop staring at my stomach," Stiles complains with a yawn. "You're making me feel fat."

"Is that so bad?" Derek asks. He doesn't want to stop looking. Doesn't think he wants to stop any of this.

He strokes over Stiles's waist. It's bunched into two plump rolls with how Stiles is curved on his side.

"What? Feeling fat?" Stiles yawns again. "Being fat? It's not so bad when I'm sleeping with a hot guy with a fat fetish."

"I don't have a _fetish_," Derek protests.

"Dude, you still can't stop touching my fat."

Derek manfully doesn't point out that if he's touching Stiles, he can't exactly avoid touching his fat. Instead, he strokes down the side of his belly and says, "I just think you're really sexy." And then he reminds him, "You liked it, too."

"I'll deny it to my grave."

Derek feels the smile pressed against his bicep. He chuckles and reaches down to pull a chubby, pliant thigh over his waist. Stiles makes a contented sound and squirms in closer.

"You know," he muses drowsily. "You're better in bed then I thought you'd be."

Derek pinches his thigh. "Thanks."

"Hey. I just mean, usually guys who look like you don't even put any effort into it."

"So you're saying I look like an inconsiderate jerk?"

"I'm saying you look like a muscle-bound gym junkie."

Derek props himself up on an elbow.

Stiles looks back up at him innocently.

Derek sighs and says, "Stiles, I'm a firefighter. I work out because I need to be good at my job."

"Wait." Stiles's eyes widen. "Are you saying that I just slept with a hot firefighter?"

Derek rolls his eyes. "My point is, I don't hit the gym because I want to look good."

Stiles frowns. "So you don't like that I think you're hot?"

"I do. I just mean..." Derek strokes his chubby thigh and thinks. "You know you don't have to go to the gym to be hot, right?"

Stiles looks like he's fighting back a sarcastic retort. Instead he bites his lip and glances down at himself.

"Yeah. I got that you... might think that." He raises his eyes back up to meet Derek's. "Thanks, dude."

"Uh, so," Stiles says as he bends to pick up his clothes. "You do realize that since we're neighbors, and I'm not actually a sex worker, that it's going to be awkward when we meet in the elevator after this."

"The stairs, you mean."

Even if Stiles hadn't had to jump out of bed to make it to a Christmas Eve dinner, Derek had known this was the end, anyways. It was just a one-time thing, two hard up guys on Christmas Eve.

Stiles grimaces. "You mean Mrs. Peabody really was lying about getting the elevator repaired? You weren't joking?"

"Afraid not."

"Excellent." Stiles sighs as he hops into his too-tight jeans. His belly and sides and thighs and, well, everything is jiggling, but Derek is pretending not to watch. "Well, that'll save the awkwardness on the stairs since my out-of-shape ass will be too out of breath for small talk."

Derek can't quite suppress a smile.

"But there's still the mailboxes," Stiles continues. Now that his jeans are over his ass, he sucks in his belly and tries to pull the fly together. "You realize there's only way to salvage this situation, right?"

"What's that?" Derek asks. The thought of being nothing more than distantly polite to Stiles after this makes his chest clench, but he _has_ done this before. Even if this was the best sex he's ever had and Stiles's babbling is growing more endearing than annoying, he _can_ be a mature adult about it.

He's busy screwing up his resolve to promise Stiles this and he almost misses him saying,

"So we'll have to do this again."

It still takes Derek a moment. Stiles meets his eyes and raises his eyebrows in a challenge.

"Well." Derek clears his throat. "I do have to return that Tupperware, don't I?"

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!


End file.
